Read Online Murder in the Rue Ursulines by Greg Herren - Free Book Online Page A

Coralie started harping on me getting an interview with Frillian again,” Paige didn’t seem to notice my hesitation, wrapped up as she was in her own anger. She took a sip of her tea, grimaced and added a pack of artificial sweetener to it. “Like it’s that goddamned easy, like I haven’t tried everything I can think of! She’s so stupid, I guess she probably thinks I can just drop by their place sometime and they’d be thrilled to see me.” She sighed. “I swear to God, she must have gotten her journalism degree online or from a mail order catalogue. If I’d only known she was going to turn into such a power hungry bitch, I’d have taken the damned job myself when they offered it to me.”
    Paige had often theorized that part of the reason Coralie seemed to pick her out for ‘special’ treatment was because management had offered her the job first. Paige had turned it down. She smacked her forehead. “Stupid, stupid, stupid. But then no one had the slightest idea she’d turn into such a fucking Nazi.”
    This was just great. I cursed the goddamned confidentiality agreement—even though I knew I could trust her. She’d be furious when she found out I was working for them and didn’t tell her. I made a mental note to ask them the next time I saw them to give her the interview. The worst thing they could do was say no, right? And I owed Paige many favors. “I don’t see what the big deal is.” I said. I had wondered how I could get her to talk to me about Frillian without telling her I was working for them. What a stroke of luck that bitch Coralie had opened the lines of communication for me. “I mean, yeah, I get it, they’re movie stars, but so what. Nobody even talks about them any more,, you know? They’re just part of the city now.”
    “Try telling that to that bitch Coralie,” Paige groused, squeezing her lemon into the tall glass of tea. “And besides, you know damned well that celebrities are about the only thing people want to hear about on the news anymore. Every time Britney Spears farts, it makes CNN Headline News. If you ask me, it’s all a big government-controlled conspiracy. Who cares if we’re in a stupid war or the economy is going into the toilet, as long as we know that Paris Hilton flashed her cooch getting out of her Ferrari? Or that some other useless waste of oxygen they’ve decided we should care about went into rehab again, or is having a baby, or getting a divorce? So once again, she’s got a wild hair about an exclusive interview, and of course I’m the one stuck trying to get the damned story. If I ever see Joe again, I’m going to kill him for retiring and sticking me with that bitch.”
    “It was rather inconsiderate of him.” 
    “To say the least.” She sighed again. “I called Sandy Carter today, again, and she promised to see what she could do.”
    “Sandy Carter?”
    “Oh for God’s sake, Chanse. Do you ever listento anything I say to you?” She gave me a look. “Sandy Carter is the one working with Freddy Bliss on Operation Rebuild—you know, the one who does all the work while he runs around raising money and getting publicity. You’ve met her, you big idiot.”
    “Oh, yes.” I’d met Sandy Carter the first time before the storm, when she’d been running for an at-large seat on the city council. Her campaign had been all about cleaning up the corruption at city hall—which meant her campaign was doomed to failure from the beginning. A lot of snide remarks had circulated in the media back in the fall of 2005 about corruption in Louisiana, about how the federal government shouldn’t give us money because our politicians would just steal it all. Of course, in the years since, the vast majority of the politicians who’d spread that story had all been caught in some kind of ethics or corruption scandal—because of course, there was NO corruption in any other state or the federal government. The only difference between New Orleans politics